The perils of fair trade 2

by Dream Big

It’s too late to back out now; I’m just too far gone for any of it to matter, not to me at least. But you might still have a chance, if you heed my warning.

It’s too late to back out now; I’m just too far gone for any of it to matter, not to me at least.

But you might still have a chance, if you heed my warning.

I was way too old for staring at cute boys online, but there I was, scrolling through Tumblr looking at the cute boys online. I’d just turned 50, and my life was mostly satisfactory—in all but one area.

See, I’d managed to get through the first 20 years of my marriage, and the first two kids, completely suppressing my bisexuality. But then the Internet happened, and getting caught just looking at the wrong stuff meant my marriage spiraled out, and Carol left, taking the kids with her. It only took five years to rebuild any semblance of a relationship there, but both kids were surprisingly cool about the whole thing. I guess it is a different world now. Anyway, Bobby and Charlotte were grown up enough and I guess they worked on Carol to the point where she was over being mad, finally. A little therapy for her meant she stopped internalizing my bi issues as her failure, and she’s much happier now. Hell, I even liked that guy she started dating last year.

To be fair, the guy—Eddie—was hot. Hot like I used to be, before 20 years of desk jockeying and self-loathing took their toll. I’d gotten flabby, my college hunk days long behind me. Eddie, unlike me, had stayed active in sports and went to the gym regularly, and ate properly. He also played the guitar rather well, which I found unfair.

But he was a good guy, good to my ex-wife and good to my kids, even if he was a few years younger than Carol. He’d even got Carol on the bandwagon, and she looked better than she had in ages—practically a MILF.

I tried to be glad they were happy, but I’d had a rough few years, between the divorce and the foreclosure and the health scare with my ticker. And through all of it, I’d been pretty lonely.

But then I got a better job, and while at a conference in Vegas, I hit a jackpot and was able to clear my debts and cover my kids’ college needs. Bought the kids cars, too, which made me at least feel like a proper dad again. So for the last year, I’d been on an upswing.

But one thing I had not done was find someone to come home to, and I missed it. I also missed having someone to fool around in bed with, or cuddle with, or argue about the laundry or dishes with. And I was years overdue for a good fuck.

So there I was, pathetic and middle-aged and too lazy to get in shape and go looking, not when I could fantasize about those sexy online boys. Tomorrow, it would be hot chicks, but today, it was chiseled, sculpted 20-somethings. The same thing that had got me in trouble in the first place. I’d get my rocks off stroking my slightly-less-than-average cock, and then go to bed.

When the popup chat window appeared, I closed it.. But it was persistent.

FAIRTRADER123: Hi! Let’s talk.

ME: Not really in the mood, just here to get my rocks off.

FAIRTRADER123: Obviously. But I have a proposition for you. No money involved.

I yawned.

FAIRTRADER123: totally legit—nothing illegal here. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll tell you if I can get it, and if you want it, we’ll make it happen.

ME: Cute RP idea

FAIRTRADER123: It’s real dude. Your name is Michael, and you’re 50, and you’re currently looking at hot young stud.

ME: You’re creeping me out.

FAIRTRADER123: Sorry didn’t mean to creep you out.

ME: It’s okay.

FAIRTRADER123: But the offer is real.

ME: The list of shit I’d change is pretty long. I’m guessing I can’t afford it.

FAIRTRADER123: I never charge more than you’re willing to give up, And don’t worry too much about payment. It’s always a fair trade.

ME: …..

FAIRTRADER123: So what are you unhappy with? What would you change, and what would you trade to get it?

I thought about it. And I thought about Eddie, and about those boys on those sites. I’d never really enjoyed my young adulthood, between job and kids. I’d never really partied, never fucked around. I’d never really experienced the vitality of my younger years, never been young-dumb-and-full-of-cum. Never been really hot, just sort of attractive, back in the day.

FAIRTRADER123: Come to a decision?

ME: Well, I’d trade a lot for youthful vitality. The “me” I could have been if I’d taken a different road.

FAIRTRADER123: That’s a pretty big ask.

ME: Since we’re just joking, who cares?

FAIRTRADER123: How about every improvement costs you a year of your past life.

ME: You mean I’d forget them? Well, a few memories I could manage without.

FAIRTRADER123: You’re certain about this?

ME: What the hell. yeah. How do I do it?

FAIRTRADER123: You just say you’ll trade for something. So long as it seems like a fair trade.

ME: What, like “I’ll trade for a bigger cock” or something?

FAIRTRADER123:….you might want to be careful. Specifics are best.

FAIRTRADER123: so do we have a deal?

ME: why not.

And now, the part where I deflate my own fantasy.

FAIRTRADER123: Well? You going to try it?

It was silly. And of course it wasn’t real.

Was it?

Better give it some thought anyway. I mean, the dude was really committed to the role play.

“I’ll trade…a year of my life for….a bigger cock and balls.”

A mild tingling sensation spread through my body. Momentarily hopeful, I stuck my hand down my shorts, and found my mediocre tackle waiting for me. It seemed a little bigger, but that could have been the start of a half-chub.

FAIRTRADER123: how’d it go?

Me: hardly noticeable. I’m not sure if it worked.

FAIRTRADER123: How old are you?

Me: 50.

FAIRTRADER123: You sure?

Of course I was sure. Why, right on my driver’s license, it said….

Shit. My birthdate was there in black and white, and the day and month were the same—but the year was a year later. I was thinking it would take it off the end of my life, but apparently it’s the first bit.

Me: Fuck!

FAIRTRADER123: I guarantee it worked. But you have to be explicit about what you’re trading. Besides, no problem if you’re a bit younger, huh?

Specifics, huh? Okay. “I’ll trade a year of my life to get rid of this middle-aged spread.”

Tingles. And my gut shrank. Not fully gone, but—as I thought of it at that point—about what I could have done in a year if I hadn’t been eating my way out of depression. I put the driver’s license on the desk in front of me. Sure enough, it had me at 48 years old.

“I’ll trade a year for a much bigger cock—8 inches, proportional.” That would be about 1.5 inches bigger than my current (rather excited) state. The tingles were amazing…but apparently I had not traded quite enough. Seemed like a year wasn’t worth as much as I thought.

Maybe I could game the system?

“I’ll trade 2 years to increase the size of my genitals proportionally,” I said.

And a pleasant tingle later, I was 45 years old, according to my license, and sporting a nice 9 inch cock. Thick—because my once-shorter cock had a different ratio. Balls were pretty hefty, too.

I had five years less life lived, though. I realized I was still depressed, and angry at Carol for leaving with the kids. I’d thought I’d put that behind me? But I guess not, not with the last five years traded away.

Man, I needed a drink.

Apparently, I’d needed more than one. Before long, half the bottle of whiskey was gone, and I was a bit hammered—I’d worked through feeling stupid and sorry for myself. I’d got over her once, and would again.

That’s when I had the bright idea to trade more time away, because if I did, it would be before I got caught looking. Yeah!

“I’ll trade a year to be sexier”….. tingles, but nothing obvious changed. Still, I looked okay in the mirror. I mean, I looked a bit younger, but I’d lost the flab (mostly) and I had a pretty big dick. A bit sexier, but not quite there yet.

“I’ll trade a year to be more muscular”. This time, the trade was more obvious. As my license ticked back to show my age as 43, I actually saw myself bulk up. It wasn’t just a bit—it was a general broadening of the shoulders and thickening of the limbs. If I’d spent a year working hard to get into shape, this is probably the result. The scale showed me a dozen pounds lighter, but I hadn’t looked this good since I was 40.

“I’ll trade three years to be in even better shape,” I said, almost without thinking. That would put me at 40!

Instantly, the years and thickness began to melt away. There was no trace of old dad-bod me, but I could have passed for a stocky, but competitive, sports coach at a college or high school. And I was popping major wood. I think the loss of flab added half an inch, at least, to my endowment. My greying hair was back to mild salt-and-pepper, but I probably hadn’t looked quite this good at 40 myself.

Fuck it, I felt damned good. And I dove into some self-pleasure for the next half hour that had me seeing stars. But it was enough. That was a great trade. I was ten years younger, and in better shape than I’d been since college, and with a bigger dick than I’d imagined.

I needed to do something about this. As fantasy went it was hot enough but I wasn’t sure how long it would last.

Unfortunately, when you relocate fifty pounds of flab and gain it as muscle, nothing fits. I ransacked my closet in growing frustration before I remembered the donations (still sitting in the basement) from my recent move. Sure enough, my old stuff fit a bit better—at least enough to go out in. The jeans needed a belt, but beat my boring khakis and polos.

I pocketed my license and headed for the clubs. I hadn’t been in years, but I felt energy I hadn’t felt in a decade.

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